


Didn't You Use to Have...

by sleeplittlechild



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplittlechild/pseuds/sleeplittlechild
Summary: June is Knife Month. June is Pride Month.June is "Get your boyfriend a sword" Month.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	Didn't You Use to Have...

The months that followed the Armageddon-that-wasn’t were relatively uneventful. Practically uneventful, for everyone else on the planet who hadn’t been a scosche wise to the events of the day. (Especially as Adam Young had blurred out the memory of all the cataclysmic precursors.)

For two supernatural entities who, at this moment, had no head office to report to, so to speak, continued existence, well, continued same as usual. Crowley still found it in him to spread mischief and temptation. But with no orders or pressure coming from on high (figuratively, of course. His like were more the light the fire under your ass sort of people) Crowley took the delicate care and patience for some really, really fantastic pranks. (Tempting the queen to wear the Green Screen suit was a gift that kept giving, and giving, and giving. The Internet was an amazing thing.)

Aziraphale’s routine hadn’t changed much, but he became more aware of it. While Crowley’s wiley ways only increased, if not in frequency, then in scale, Aziraphale sat by and watched it unfold from his comfortable bookshop (where he read over the new books Adam had added. All first editions and very relaxing to read, in a let-your-mind-wander sort of a way.) He sipped his cocoa and miracled to Shanghai for his favorite Xiao Long Bao, just as he always had. But now, the worry that his superiors might be watching him simply...disappeared.

Their lunch dates increased in frequency as well.

Sometimes, they didn’t even bother to go out at all. Crowley would just show up at the bookshop with a bag of some take-away or a bottle(s) of wine and the shop would close early that day.

Crowley showed up just this way, but alongside the plastic bags he clutched a long brown parcel under his arms. He maneuvered the shop doors rather awkwardly - Aziraphale moved to help him. When Aziraphale moved to take the bags - so Crowley could hold the parcel with two hands - Crowley shoved that into his hands instead. Aziraphale blinked rather owlishly.

“Got you something.” was all Crowley said for explanation, moving past him into the kitchen and backroom.

Aziraphale looked down at the, well, present, he guessed. Wrapped in scotch tape and even some twine for good measure. It was wider than his shoulders - three feet, give or take.  _ What an odd gift _ , Aziraphale thought. He began untying the twine as he walked into the backroom.

Crowley had gotten curry and was dishing it out when Aziraphale returned to his seat. His tea was warmed, but he didn’t know that. He had gotten the twine off and after carefully wrapping it into a loop, he started in on the tape.

“Just miracle it off.” Crowley said after the fifth time Aziraphale had lost the end of the tape.

“I find doing it the old fashioned way much more satisfying.” Crowley rolled his eyes. He may have been waiting for Aziraphale, because after saying that, he grabbed his plate and started spooning up the rice.

Aziraphale did, eventually, manage the tape off and opened the package. But what he found inside would have made Crowley wait even longer.

It was a high polished silver, with a golden guard that caught the setting afternoon sun. Beautiful brown leather cord wrapped the hilt, accented with golden thread at the edges. At the pommel, two glorious wings, upstretched to the heavens, were etched with supernaturally exact detail. The metal stretched from where he held it in his lap up to just about his hair, reflecting back his own dumbfounded expression.

“It’s a sword.” Aziraphale’s voice was barely a whisper. He didn’t consciously say those words - they just came out with all his awe of the blade.

“Yes, angel, very astute of you. A very obvious observation.” Crowley teased, but he hadn’t looked away from Aziraphale since he pulled the sword out of the box. With each passing moment of silence, Crowley’s grin grew wider. He looked very much like the snake that had caught the mouse.

Aziraphale adjusted his grip, putting the box down with gentle care and finally gripping it with both hands. Crowley watched him transform, an old muscle flexing again with a weapon in his hands again. Aziraphale pushed back his shoulders and straightened his posture. Crowley kicked his feet up on the couch, not trying to hide how pleased he was with himself. Aziraphale practised a few cuts through the air and the blade shone brilliantly in the filtering sunlight. Aziraphale, for his 6000 years without, hadn’t lost a step with a sword in his hand. He was a natural.

“I know a guy. Persuaded him to make a sword using the old Damascus technique, even if he didn’t know it when he signed on to the job.” Crowley had traded his food for a glass of wine, looking ever the picture of nonchalant smugness.

Aziraphale turned about, the sword still held high and proper. “Oh Crowley.”

His voice was soft, so very tender, that Crowley’s smug feeling gave way to coloring cheeks and stumbling words. “Well, you just seemed so happy to reclaim the sword - and then when you had to give it to that postman...well, you angels are always in the habit of persevering through denial, yeah? Seems only right a demon would tempt you into taking what you want.” Crowley’s words funneled into his wine glass, trying to hide his blush in the alcohol.

Aziraphale smiled back. “Seems only right.” Indeed.  _ Crowley, you old sot _ . But the sword was very beautiful, so well balanced, and it felt so...right, in his hands. This sword was made for him - by Crowley’s kindness, it was  _ made _ , for him - and holding it in his hands, Aziraphale almost thought he could’ve been made for the sword, too.

Actually…

Aziraphale pushed the closest books and shelves away from him with a miracle. He shrugged his shoulders, feeling inside him that instinct, an old power covered in dust and cobwebs. Aziraphale rotated the sword in a big circle across his body, then did the same on the other side. Back and forth, forth and back, as he reached inside of himself. The weight of the sword, that small sound as he went past his ear, he remembered it all. If he could just remember…

“I don’t think I told him to make it do that.”

Aziraphale breathed out, a sigh and a laugh rolled into one. Bright orange flames danced along the metal, starting from the guard up to the point. Each finger of fire folded over another and they reached out to the world around it - a bright light shining out of the darkness. Shining out of Aziraphale’s heart, thrumming inside of him.

“Oh Crowley, this is a stunning present. I don’t even know how I could ever thank you, I -”

“Then don’t.” Crowley kicked his legs off the couch arms. He busied his hands with their lunch, filling up his plate with a second helping that he probably wouldn’t eat. “Keep it, put it on display somewhere in the shop. It looks old enough - it’ll fit right in. And don’t give it away to any mortals this time.” Crowley took a long swig of his wine. When he leaned back into the couch, he was ever the picture of pretending like he didn’t care. 

Aziraphale actually laughed at how hard Crowley was trying. In the space between breaths, he extinguished the sword. Not a dull mark in sight; the afternoon sun was an admirable imitation. “You wily old serpent.” Aziraphale playfully admonished. Crowley’s deepening blush made Aziraphale blush in turn.

Aziraphale wondered if Crowley had any spider lilies in his garden.


End file.
